Broadway Dreams
by PreviouslyDead
Summary: Kurt's always wanted to make it big performing. And he has. Kind of. Just not in the way he wanted. Yes, Kurt Hummel has fallen in with the wrong crowd. Warning: Prostitution, Drugs maybe, eventual Klaine. EDITED AND IMPROVED AS OF 31/08/11
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note - Right guys, this is chapter one, version 2! I've been editing for the past week or so with the amazing **EmilianaDarling** (She's on livejournal, and you should totally go check her out, she has amazing Glee fanfiction) as a sort of Beta for the first six to seven chapters. I think we've managed to improve this a lot, and so if you've JUST started reading and i've only just updated this chapter, i'd give it a few minutes to make sure i've uploaded the other updated chapters, which i'll be doing straight away.

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><p>The air is chilled, and his breath condenses, as if he's a dragon breathing smoke. The ally is dark, the walls pressed close around him and Kurt really hopes it's a cat he sees scamper under the trail of dumpsters to his left. Shadows leer at him as he stands close, but not too close, to the building behind him. <em>Come on<em>, he thinks, watching the opening of the slim street, _just one_.

No one walks around the corner.

Kurt sighs, half tempted to lean his head back against the wall behind him. But no: he may have sunk low, but that wall is covered in nasty-looking gunk. After glancing at his watch, he's about ready to give up. The past few nights he'd been lucky: he's only had a few clients, but they tipped handsomely and Kurt likes tips. Tips mean he can afford to pay his heating bill. Kurt glances behind him again, grateful for the building light which hangs overhead. The fact that he can see every broke piece of glass, every used needle, makes him feel better, rather then disgusted.

Being well known around the area had its perks. Guys know where to find him, and he rarely has a night when no one is interested. His timing must just be bad, because tonight is one of those nights. He looks at his watch again, as if he could claw back the hours, maybe go a few blocks over to the next set of nightclubs, have worn something a bit more tempting. Anything to have changed his luck.

After another five minutes Kurt gives up. Shaking his head and burying his hands into his pockets, he trudges back towards where he'd parked his beat-up car. Climbing behind the wheel, Kurt pauses; staring out through wind screen as though someone is going to come running from the shadows and beg to have sex with him. He doesn't realise he's shaking until he moves his hand to the ignition.

"Oh, god," he murmurs, biting his lower lip. The flesh of it is soft between his teeth. "I'm pathetic."

He clenches his fingers around the steering wheel as he quickly pulls out of the ally. _Tomorrow. _He vows, _tomorrow there'll be someone there. They need me._

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><p>On the other side of town, Blaine Anderson is sitting on a padded leather stool, leaning against a smooth chestnut bar and breathing in the scent of Apple Schnaps mixed with Jack Daniels. He's knocking back shots and laughing loudly with his friends. A celebration, his friends say, for moving to New York, and he rolls his eyes. They don't believe him when he says he'll be out of here within a few months. To them, this is his new home: to him, it's only temporary.<p>

The bar isn't well-lit, and from where Blaine sits he can only see two lamps at opposite sides of the room, only slightly illuminating the grinning faces that surround him. But he notices when a group of men walk in, especially when one of them says something in a high, clear voice that jerks him right out of his thoughts. Automatically Blaine's eyes scan the group, searching for the man he knows already isn't there. "Kurt," he sighs, shaking his head.

_Where are you?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, this is chapter two edited version, there are a few changes, I hope you enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

_Day two_, Kurt thinks miserably. _Day two. No customers. _He's close to crying. Its never been this bad before, he's never had to stand in the cold, desolate alley for over four hours with no one walking by. Has someone spread around a rumour he has an STD? No, no. The guys would set that straight.

"Hey babe," a rough voice cuts through his thoughts and Kurt's head jerks up, eyes blinking away the sting of potential tears. A man is staggering towards him, a half snarl, half leer spread over his face. His cloths are dirty, soiled with what smells like alcohol as well as other substances Kurt can't even identify. Red. That must be blood, right? Kurt's heart picks up speed. Not out of excitement for a new client, however. He'd made a pact to himself never to sleep with anyone who looked like this, who looked so dangerous. And as desperate as he is, he can't break that promise.

He quickly moves away, trying to casually stroll towards the opening of the alley, where he knows there are clubs, shops, _people. _He'll be okay there. Safe.

"Hey!" A growl comes from behind him as he's reaching the mouth of the ally, "Whore, get back here!" Kurt winces at the term. He's used to it. He knows it's true. But it doesn't ever stop hurting to hear it directed at him.

Speeding up, Kurt glances to the nightclub across the street. He goes there when he has enough money and he's made friends - if they can be called that - with the staff and regulars there. He steps forward, hoping to make it before the drunken man catches up.

Too late, he thinks miserably, as a hand clamps down on his shoulder, dirty fingers gripping him tight and dragging him backwards.

_I'm used to it, _Kurt tells himself, _it's just sex. _He can't fight back. If his face gets bruised he'll lose so much business he won't be able to eat properly for days. He knows this: it's happened before. So he lets himself be shoved roughly onto the wall of the nearest building, cringing at the sharp pain against his temple. _It's just sex, _he repeats in his head, _it's just sex_. And he closes his eyes.

Blaine leaves the bar half hugging himself. He hasn't drunk a drop all night: he has an interview tomorrow morning set up by the Casting Director about his future role with them. Yet another casting director from yet another Broadway show eager to show they've hired the famous Blaine Anderson. A sigh escapes his lips and he raises an arm to hail a taxi, glancing curiously around when he hears a shout.

"_Get back here_," someone yells, and Blaine turns, wondering if its someone talking to him.

What he sees freezes him. His blood is ice. He can't move. Because about ten yards away is Kurt Hummel. About ten yards away is Kurt Hummel, being shoved into a wall, with some weird guy's hand down his pants. A ragged gasp escapes Blaine's lips, and suddenly he can move again. Fluid and stormy, he marches across the road, throwing himself at the guy coming onto Kurt. _His_ Kurt. Because Kurt is still Blaine's. He always will be.

Without even thinking Blaine grabs the guy by the back of the collar, tugs _hard_, and _wrenches_ the man off Kurt's body. The man falls to the ground, clearly too intoxicated to fight back properly, but Blaine doesn't want to take any chances. He hears a soft noise of distress and can only assume it comes from Kurt. Blaine throws himself down on top of the man's prone form, straddling him and slamming his fist into his shocked face. He gets in a few good hits before Kurt drags him away, eyes wide with fear and shock.

The other man scrabbles to his feet. After throwing a scathing look at the pair, he stumbles off into the night.

Kurt doesn't pay any attention to him, can't even bring himself to care. He's too busy looking at the man he's ached for for the past five years

"Blaine?" Kurt's hands cup his face for a precious second, fingertips smoothing the concerned look from his features. Blaine wonder's if it's actually a question he's supposed to answering, but then he's too busy kissing Kurt to care.

Kurt sinks into the kiss, savouring it with a tiny gasp of contentedness. "Blaine…" he whispers against the other man's lips, eyes fluttering closed, wishing he could stay like this forever. But he can't. He has a job to do, just because some hotshot actor/singer is kissing him just like he remembers it used to be like… Kurt loses his train of thought. Where is he? Oh, right. Just because Blaine's back doesn't mean Kurt has any fewer bills to pay, any less food to buy.

It hits him, all at once, and Kurt freezes in place. What would he say? What would Blaine say if he knew? If he found out? Kurt clenches his jaw and pulls away, quickly wiping his mouth like he wishes he could his memory. He needs to forget Blaine. Without a word he turns, half stumbling, half running back towards the place he parked his car, trying his hardest to ignore the distressed calls from the man behind him. To not hear the footsteps trying to follow. But Kurt's walked these streets a million times, and he knows them far better then Blaine does.

And as he disappears into the night, Blaine sees only the ends of Kurt's coat, swishing in the breeze, before he's gone.

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><p>It's almost a week later before Kurt sees Blaine again. For the past five days he's been avoiding that strip of territory, managing to find a new one where it seems half of his old clients have re-located to. He doesn't ask why, only smiles politely as he lets them fuck him. He watches as they throw money at him and look at the door pointedly, telling him without words to leave.<p>

He never says goodbye, because that would imply the meeting was good, and it's never good for Kurt. Sex hasn't been good for a long, long time. Not since Blaine, all those years ago, on the night of prom.

Kurt remembers the night before mostly. It's one of the worst he's had and his ass still aches and stings. He'd been shoved down, face first, into a motel's off-white pillow and it had taken him to moment to drag up the strength to turn his head so he could breathe. All he'd been able to feel was the guy's stubbly finger tips trailing over his body, squeezing his thighs as Kurt's trousers and underwear were pulled off. Kurt had closed his eyes, tried to block out the feeling of thick digits probing at his entrance. A shudder had worked itself through his body and he tried to pass it off as pleasure.

After the man had finished using him, he'd chucked a hundred dollar bill onto Kurt's trembling side, straightened his suit and slammed the door on his way out. Kurt lay absolutely still for a pure moment, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Eventually he had to move, the damp feeling had started spreading between his cheeks already and he desperately wanted a shower. Five showers.

Kurt remembers how he stumbled into the bathroom, wincing at every step he had to take. He'd almost crawled into the shower, slamming his hand against the grey leaver, craving water to wash away the invisible dirt on his body as well as the visible. He remembers how he pressed his face against the shower side, trying hard not to cry at the mess his life had become.

He pulls himself from old memories as he walks towards a grocery store, intending to pick up the week's groceries. He hates the fact that his clothes are so dirty, but laundry detergent is expensive, and as soon as he walks in he knows the security guards zero in on him. He's a target, looking like this. Suspicious. Trying his best to ignore it, he gathers the essentials. Carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, ground beef and chicken. Potatoes and rice, easy starch that fills him up. It's all he can afford, but he knows how to make food last.

He pays with crumpled bills and leaves the store, trying not to look at all the other things he's missing out on. Chocolate. Not that he ate all that much of that before, but it used to be one of the small, indulgent luxuries of his teenage years.

He isn't watching where he's going, too focused on the sidewalk to notice as he walks straight into someone. They both stagger, and a warm arm wraps around his waist to keep him steady. It takes him a second before he recognises it as Blaine's. Grinding his teeth, Kurt meets his ex's eyes, angry at the look of shock as Blaine takes in the state of Kurt and his clothes.

Having just come from a 'meeting', Kurt knows he stinks of sex. He probably looks as though he's crawled out of a sewer: the washing machine in his building is broken again. Kurt clutches the small, half-empty bag to his chest like it's a lifesaver and he's sinking fast.

"Kurt, I- what are you doing here?" Blaine states, he comes here almost every other day when he isn't working on a scene or something like that, so he can get away from his quiet flat and he's never seen Kurt there before. , eyes still scanning Kurt's skinny, messy figure. And before he knows it, before he can protest, Blaine is half dragging him towards the parking lot. "Where's your car?" he asks, the calm clearly forced into his tone. Kurt just looks at him.

"I walked," He can't afford the gas. "And it's a shop, i'm shopping. The place I ususally go to is closed down for, well - hygeine issues."

Blaine nods, almost as though he anticipated that answer, and digs into his pocket for his keys. "Right," he says. "Right. Well, I'll drop you off home then." Kurt looks at him, silent for a moment, before looking at the darkening sky. The clouds hanging there are heavy, sagging with water. "It's gonna rain," Blaine hints, knowing that Kurt is hesitant for some reason he can't fully understand.

"All right," Kurt nods, eyes narrowing at Blaine suspiciously. "Just home, though," he cautions sharply, opening the car door Blaine had just unlocked for him.

The drive was awkward and silent, and_ long c_onsidering how much traffic is about. Kurt likes that about New York: there are always people about, no matter what time it is. But in this case, the sheer number of other cars on the street makes for a torturously long dirve. Kurt wishes he'd braved the rain clouds, because anything would have been better then this. He finally looks up when Blaine pulls up outside an apartment building. Kurt frowns: he hadn't even given Blaine any directions apart from "head west". It takes Kurt far longer than it should to realise this isn't his street, and it isn't his building. This building - this whole neighbourhood - is much, much nicer than where he lives.

The streets are clear of litter. There's no dog crap on the side walk like there is in Kurt's street. The trees and street lamps all stand upright, and are clearly maintained on a regular basis. None of the bulbs in the lamps are broken. There are people walking past, and sitting on benches. They're laughing and smiling. Kurt can't remember the last time he saw people having fun in his own neighbourhood. It's too full of broken people with empty dreams.

He looks at Blaine blankly, waiting for an answer. "This is my apartment," Blaine says nervously, biting the inside of his cheek and avoiding Kurt's eyes. "I didn't…I wasn't sure how to get you to speak to me, so I thought…"

"You thought wrong," says Kurt, words coming out harsh and slightly panicked. "I have to get to work before all the decent ones go -" he cuts himself off, whole body tensing. They both freeze: Blaine in confusion, Kurt in horror.

"The good ones?" Blaine raises his eyebrows as heat rises in Kurt's cheeks.

"I'm. Yes, I'm - a waiter. I need to get the good tables." _Crap_, Kurt thinks frantically, _crap, crap, crap, that was the worst excuse ever_. But despite Kurt's hesitation, Blaine's expression clears. He nods in understanding.

"Half an hour?" Blaine begs, "Please?"

After a long pause, Kurt sighs. "Fine," he says, and that was that.

They climb out of the car, the air between them hanging with stony silence once more. Kurt trails behind Blaine as he smiles at the doorman and steps into the elevator. Kurt's eyes are fixed on the floor in a half-hearted attempt to ignore everything around him, but he can't help but notice the incredible wealth of the place. Everything gleams and sparkles in a way that Kurt finds himself resenting. He used to sparkle like this, with designer clothes and coifed hair. Now he's run down, worn away. Too skinny and too dirty, living off of carrots and lettuce.

"So," says Blaine after a moment, breaking the silence in the elevator, watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye. "How've you been?" The words are almost cheerful. He seems genuine enough, but Kurt can't help but snort.

"Dandy," he jokes scathingly, ignoring the confused, slightly surprised look on Blaine's face as he rolls his eyes.

"Look," Blaine sighs, as the elevator doors open up and they walk down a hallway so lush it makes Kurt wince. "We haven't seen each other in years, please, can we just talk? Catch up? What happened to you, Kurt?"

They stop in front of one of the many doors, and Blaine turns to unlock it.

And as they walk into Blaine's apartment - shockingly nice and extremely plush, stinking of money and privilege and all the things Kurt doesn't have - Kurt cannot force himself to reply. He sits down on what is probably a shockingly expensive beige couch as Blaine heads into the kitchen. There is simply is no way to try to reword_ "well, see, I became a prostitute when I realised it was harder then I originally thought to make it on Broadway and I couldn't ask my father for more money to stay in the apartment I originally had because his medical bills had skyrocketed but I wouldn't be able to face Lima again after failing so badly, so now I just sleep with perverted men who have weird kinks and ask me to call them 'daddy' sometimes," _in a way that doesn't make him sound just as disgusting as he feels.

Kurt scrubs a hand over his eyes and looks around at the apartment. The walls are white, almost blindingly so. He's so caught up in staring at them - studying the few colourful paintings and pictures that are scattered across the expanse of too-clean _white _- that he almost misses the little noise of distress that Blaine makes. Looking up he sees Blaine emerging from the kitchen, hands clutching a glass of organge juice. His eyes are were wider then ever before. The shock on his face is out of place, and it makes a sudden anxiety clutch at Kurt's chest.

"What?" Kurt demands, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, wishing his butt didn't feel so at home in it. Blaine grips at the glass cradled in his hands so hard that his knuckles are beginning to turn white.

"Prostitute?" chokes Blaine, and Kurt freezes like a deer in the headlights.

_Fuck,_ thinks Kurt. _I said that out loud._


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited chapter 3.**

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><p>Chapter three<p>

Kurt shakes as he stands, moving away from the couch, half torn between jumping out of the window in humiliation and begging for Blaine's forgiveness.

"I…I need to go," he whispers, voice trembling. His eyes flicker around the room, searching for anything else to catch his attention. Trying desperately to avoid Blaine's eyes.

But Blaine doesn't remain frozen for long. He plunks the glass of orange juice down onto a nearby side table and moves rapidly towards Kurt, taking quick steps forward and reaching out to grasp his arm. He ignores the flinch and pulls Kurt smoothly towards him, fitting them together in some semblance of a hug.

"What happened?" Blaine's voice is hoarse, the same way it got when they were in high school and Blaine was seconds away from crying. All Kurt wants to do is bundle him up in a blanket and take back that sentence. Pull the horrible words from the air and back into his body.

"Blaine," he chokes, shaking his head. There's something heavy and awful growing in the pit of his stomach. "Your don't wanna hear it." He makes a half-hearted attempt to tug away, to wrench himself from Blaine's arms, but the other boy holds him tight.

Blaine doesn't want to hear this, Kurt knows. But more than anything else, Kurt doesn't want to tell it. The past few years... they haven't been a highlight in his life. He isn't proud; far from it. Blaine just holds him tighter.

"I don't," confirms Blaine, shaking his head. "But I need to."

And that's all it takes. One second he's tugging away, trying to make it to the door - to make a clean escape, to get away from Blaine, to run into the street and never see him again - and the next second, his fingers are bunched in Blaine's jacket and he's crying into his chest. The last time he cried like this with Blaine was when they broke up. They'd clung to each other then, as well, if only for a second.

"I can't," Kurt croaks, wiping the tears from his flushed cheeks. Shame and humiliation are burning hot inside his chest. He wishes he'd never run into Blaine again, that Blaine had just let that man get on with what he was doing in the ally. Because that would have been better than this; better than spilling his dirty laundry onto Blaine's perfect life.

"You can." Blaine presses his palms to Kurt's sides and gently untangles the two of them. "You have to. We need to talk about this, you need to…to tell me what you meant," Blaine's voice wavers, and that tiny crack of weakness in his in-control exterior makes it possible Kurt to look him in the eyes. Even in high school - _especially_ in high school - Kurt has always built Blaine up in his head. Making him stronger, and surer; able to handle any situation without flinching. The hesitation makes him remember that Blaine in real life isn't as perfect as the version that lives inside Kurt's head.

"I fuck guys." Kurt says shortly, searching Blaine's face, "I let them fuck me. And then they pay me for it." He watches as Blaine's face crumples slightly, and lets the other man squeeze his hand.

"Why?" Blaine begs, "Why would you do something as stupid and…and _stupid_ as that?"

Kurt flinches, trying to turn away.

"I needed the money," he admits. "I couldn't afford the rent. Food. Heating bills. I needed it. Living here, it was a dream, but an expensive one. Living in New York costs _money_, Blaine, a whole lot of it, which you might not get since you live in this amazing apartment and eat _amazing_ food with all your _amazing_ friends!" It's almost as though he's trying to reassure himself.

But Blaine is staring at him open-mouthed. "_Kurt_, why not go home? Your Dad would welcome you back, you know that. You don't need to resort to - to _this_!" But Kurt just shakes his head.

"I don't want your pity," he spits, yanking their hands apart and pushing at Blaine's chest to get him to move back. But Blaine is like stone: he's still shorter than Kurt, yes, but he's clearly been eating and living far better than Kurt has for years now. He doesn't even bend or move at all at the shove. "I have never wanted your pity, and that's just what I'd get if I went back there!"

"What do you want then, Kurt? What can I do to fix this?" Blaine demands, moving closer and gripping him by the shoulders. Kurt knows they must feel pointed and sharp beneath his hands. He shakes Kurt slightly. "What can I do to make it _better_?"

Kurt shakes his head again, "Stop it. You can't do anything. This isn't your problem, Blaine, you can't - you can't _fix_ this like you always want to fix everything else. It isn't that simple." He wants to hug Blaine. He wants to beg for help, for someone to hold him and make him feel safe again. But he's too proud to ask. Too proud to let Blaine see how much it kills him to let men do those things to him, or to let him know how incredibly _degraded _he feels all the time.

Blaine just looks at him, "I want to help you, Kurt," he whispers brokenly. Kurt can see the telltale shimmer in his eyes, warning that tears are just around the corner. _If he cries, I won't be able to take it, _Kurt thinks and turns his head away.

"I'm leaving now," he says quietly, "If you try to stop me, I'll call the police." Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the shock on Blaine's face, and his heart aches in his chest. "Goodbye."

And he leaves. All the while, trying to block out the sounds of Blaine crumbling behind him.

He rushes out of the apartment, ignoring the elevator and dashing down the stairs, thanking the fact tat they're only on the 7th floor rather then the 15th, before Blaine can even think to follow him. Kurt doesn't hesitate when he crosses the road, barely avoiding two cars which take their anger out in loud, drawn-out honks of their horns. And he's safe again, for now, as he hurries off home, pulling his thin jacket closer as a shiver escapes him.

Blaine is still staring at the door, still speechless, still unsure of what to do. In the end he falls onto the coach, wrapping his arms around himself like's he's trying to keep himself from falling to pieces. "Burt," he murmurs after a few minutes, wondering if calling Kurt's father is the right decision in this situation. Concern for Burt Hummel's heart and the shock it would be to hear this new piece of information, however, means that but he instead settles on Finn.

He hopes that the old number he still has on his phone is still the one he uses. There are a lot of numbers in Blaine's phone that he never uses anymore, matched up to faces and names of people he never sees. Left undeleted because of laziness, and nostalgia, and never quite wanting to let go of the past. But after a few minutes, it is Finn who picks up - and his cautious tone shows that Finn still has Blaine's number saved into his phone, as well.

"Blaine?" Finn questions.

"Yes. Yes, Finn, it's -" He hesitates, clenching his eyes shut for a moment, "It's me."

If Kurt knew what he was doing - if he knew what a massive invasion of privacy Blaine was about to commit - he'd never speak to him again. _Do you really want to do this_? Blaine asks himself quickly, knowing he can't stay silent for too long. No. No, he doesn't. But it's for Kurt's own good.

So many things have changed in the years since graduation, but Blaine is still willing to get himself hurt for Kurt's own good.

"You there, man?" Finn's confused voice breaks him out of his silent argument and he sighs.

"Do you know where Kurt is?" Blaine asks, half dreading the answer. The line is silent for a moment. "I'm not going to stalk him, I just…I want to catch up with him, you know, for old time's sake," Blaine is lying. But Finn won't know that.

"Well yeah, dude, he's in some show somewhere, he calls in regularly…or at least, when he gets the chance. He says he's busy most of the time." At that, Blaine feels sick. _Yeah_, he thinks, _busy having sex with strange, maybe even violent, people_. Thankfully he manages to keep the thoughts firmly inside of his own mind, doesn't blurt them out unthinkingly like Kurt had only a few minutes ago.

"Oh," Blaine swallows, "Right, well. What if he weren't?"

"Huh?" Finn sounds even more confused then before.

"I mean, what if…" Blaine trails off, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He has absolutely no idea how to say this. "What if he were doing something else. Something…different. Would you want to know?"

And all at once, Blaine wants to _hit_ himself. He shouldn't be doing this. It's none of his business, Kurt was right. Absolutely none of his business, and oh, god. He's just making things worse.

"You know what?" says Blaine quickly. "Never mind, I've - I've got to go. Bye, Finn." He hangs up without waiting for an answer, letting his cell phone drop onto the couch as he leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. "Fuck," he murmurs. "Just…Fuck."

For the first time in a long time, Blaine has absolutely no idea what to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Edited chapter 4 :)**

**Chapter Four:**

Finn stares at the phone in his hand for a moment, ignoring Rachel chatting away in his ear, asking why Blaine had called and if he was okay.

_Blaine just called me, _he thinks. _Blaine. Kurt's Blaine_.

His head is swimming with confusion. Why would Kurt's old boyfriend be calling him about something Kurt may or may not be doing? He's sure he's missing something, sure there's more to it, but he's really craving some grilled cheese so he'll have to figure it out later. He pats Rachel's shoulder and smiles like he knows what she just said, then heads into their kitchen.

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><p>Blaine stares down at his cell phone - a Smartphone, new model, expensive. It isn't confusion that holds his gaze, however: it's indecision. He's just spend half an hour trying to convince himself to move, to go after Kurt, to call Finn back - anything other than standing alone in his apartment with no idea what to do next. He knows about Kurt, now. Knows he should have asked to speak to Burt, to tell him what's been going on, to beg for him to fly out and shake some sense into his son.<p>

Sighing, Blaine places the cell phone in his pocket. He glances at the sofa where Kurt had been sitting, and then at the untouched glass of orange juice he doesn't even remember putting down on a wooden side table. Kurt had been there for less then an hour and had already made an impression on his life.

Kurt is already blocks away, however. In a back alley cramped with dumpsters, old newspapers covering the ground where Kurt kneels, getting his face fucked by a 'friend' he used to room with. It's hard and fast and unrelenting, and the man twists his fingers into Kurt's hair and _twists_ as he pushes brutally hard in and out of Kurt's mouth. Years ago, it would've been enough to make him gag: the unwashed smell, the slam of the cock hitting the back of his throat faster and faster as the customer gets closer, how hard it is to breathe like this. But it barely even phases him now. He mostly focuses on the sting of his knees from being on the hard ground for too long, tones it all out like white noise in his head.

After the man comes, grabbing the back of Kurt's neck and _slamming_ in hard as he pulses down Kurt's throat and forcing him to swallow, he lets out a shaky breath and pulls out quickly. Zipping up, the man throws a smirk in Kurt's direction - along with a ten dollar bill - and walks off. Kurt stares after him.

"That was worth at least a twenty," he mutters to himself with narrowed eyes, wiping his mouth with a grubby sleeve - and then wincing as he realises the stains are going to be a bitch to get out.

Eventually he staggers to his feet, bracing himself against the brick wall until he's sure his knees won't give out. He takes the money and looks at it. The crinkled green paper stares back at him, and as always he's going to have to make a choice. Should he buy a real meal, or put it towards the heating bill? These are the questions his life now revolves around, now. No, 'ooh, Gucci or Alexander McQueen?' or 'the new hair gel or the new hairspray?'. Making hard decisions and always, always missing out; it's just the way his life is.

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><p>Over the next few days, Kurt avoids working near the nightclub he saw Blaine at. He pointedly doesn't go to the supermarket where their second meeting took place, either, even when he runs out of toothpaste and has to walk an extra two blocks to buy some. Anywhere else he thinks Blaine would go is staunchly avoided.<p>

In the end, however, it's a pointless endeavour, because Blaine is the one who searches him out. Time after time it's Blaine who half stalks him down the street until Kurt catches on, hurrying into side alleys or ducking into clubs and hoping against hope to avoid another confrontation.

This method works for all of two days. By that time, Blaine seems to have figured out all of his exit strategies. _He just doesn't give up_, thinks Kurt, mostly in irritation but also a small amount of affection. Blaine seems to be completely determined to make Kurt stop, to make him listen and pay attention, and the moment where he decides to throw in the towel and give up the chase as Kurt had originally hoped just never comes to pass.

Worst of all, there's a part of Kurt that_ wants _Blaine to keep trying. To stick it out, and find him - to kiss him again. He tries to squelch the stupid desire down in his chest, to shove it away, but it just doesn't work. It hurts his pride badly, but some part of Kurt desperately wants Blaine to look after him.

In the end, it comes down to the fact that Kurt is just slightly too slow one day. He ignores the flash of curly hair he sees out of the corner of his eye; doesn't speed up, or move off in another direction. He just carries on walking as though he isn't waiting for the inevitable ambush. And all the while, a small stupid voice inside of him is saying, _yes. Yes, I want you to keep trying. I want you to not give up on me._

He acts surprised when it comes; when Blaine finally corners him. Kurt blinks rapidly and lets his eyes widen, and Blaine buys it with a quick grin, "Couldn't escape me forever," he says, sounding a little smug. Probably pleased with himself for daring to brave the _same dangerous underbelly_ of New York that Kurt lives and works in every day.

_No, _Kurt thinks_. I could have, I really really could have, if I'd tried._

But Kurt doesn't speak the words out loud. He's fed up of trying. He just looks at Blaine and waits for the heartfelt speech he knows is coming. The _I'll take care of you'_s and the _don't worry_'s.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know?"

Wait, _what_?

Kurt stares at him, eyes now genuinely wide. He hadn't expected this.

"After all your family did for you. Dalton, the loan to move out here_, everything_ - and this is what you do?" Blaine looks at him, and something coils up and tightens inside Kurt's stomach that he isn't very used to feeling anymore. _Fear_. Fear, because he now sees something he didn't think he'd ever see in Blaine's eyes: judgement.

Kurt backs up a bit and looks at his ex-boyfriend defiantly, "You don't know what it was like for me," he protests angrily.

"No. No, I didn't, but you could have called me. You could've called _them_!" Blaine argues, "You could have done anything other then this, then selling yourself like - like some kind of cheap whore. That's what I see when I look at you, Kurt. I see someone who doesn't think he matters, and that's so far away from how I remember you. I can't - I can't even believe it."

At the words, Kurt can't help but flinch. _Cheap whore._ He's heard that before, more times than he can count.

Shaking his head, Blaine exhales in resignation. He looks up, and his eyes... they're so very hazel, and perfect and _Blaine's_. The eyes Kurt used to be able to stare into all day, years ago. What feels like a lifetime ago.

I love Kurt," Blaine tells him, and Kurt feels confused. "I love Kurt, not this person you've become." The words feel like a punch to the chest. Kurt feels his mouth fall open in shock, in anger. The look on Blaine's face - the way he's holding himself, the way he bites down on his lower lip - says that he regrets the words, at least a little bit. But he can't take them back.

Blaine doesn't see the slap coming, and even if he had Kurt suspects he probably wouldn't have tried to stop it.

The palm of Kurt's hand connects with the hot _smack _of flesh on flesh. Whole body shaking, Kurt glares at him with betrayal in his eyes. "You. Know. _Nothing_," he seethes, the hot sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. And he turns on his heels, ready to march off like the drama queen he can no longer afford to be.

"If you run, I won't follow you," comes Blaine's voice, calm and collected, from behind him. He's lying: he'll always follow. But Kurt doesn't know that.

Kurt's shoulders stiffen and a trail of tears makes its way down his cheeks. For a second, he freezes mid-step, unsure - before he starts walking again. Away from Blaine, away from his words, and away from the judgement in his eyes.

Kurt has had enough.

He stays in bed for a week after the confrontation on the street, not able to bring himself to leave his claustrophobic apartment with its peeling wallpaper and mould in the ceilings. Living off water, and old salad, and unheated baked beans straight from the tin. The heavy sag of depression and devastation weigh on his limbs, on his mind. He's given up. And he's freezing, really really freezing. The heating is off again since he hasn't paid the bills, and when the lights stop turning on after a few days he can only assume the electric bill is overdue as well.

Five days after seeing Blaine, Kurt writes a letter. He doesn't have enough money for a phone call and even if he did he had no idea what he'd say. "Dear Dad," it starts with, "Don't blame yourself for my mistakes, I'm doing this because I can't stand to be in this world anymore, it's too harsh, too dark, and I've seen enough of it." Kurt takes a deep breath, brushing at the tears that slide down his cheeks and leaning back against the wall, eyes clenched shut. He writes a bit more, trying to explain himself, telling his dad he loves him. Burt has Carole though, and Finn - the perfect son. He'll be okay, Kurt tries to tell himself, his dad will be fine. He tucks the letter into one of the inside pockets of his grey coat, the only one he owns, then tries to find sleep again, tries to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, the ache in his throat and heart.

Exactly seven days after the meeting with Blaine, Kurt finally leaves the house. With a ten dollar bill in hand, the same that he'd earned working on his knees earlier that month, and dark, deep bags under his eyes. He looks horrible and he knows it, but it's not like it'll matter all that much anymore. The letter is still inside his jacket, close to his heart. It's dark out when he gets to the night club he first saw Blaine at. He doesn't look around for any hint of curled hair or bright hazel eyes, however. Instead, he keeps his head down and walks right through the door. He doesn't get asked for cover: they know him here, and sometimes he brings them business. Kurt heads straight for the bathroom with the crumbled bill clutched in his hand - and waits.

At precisely ten o'clock, Alex enters, he's tall and dark, green eyes roving the bathroom for potential customers even though it's obvious Kurt is the only other one in there. His hair is slightly greasy and there's a dark scar on his cheek, jagged from his temple to his chin, the clothes he wears are brand new, maybe even worn for the first time tonight, even after all these years Kurt still knows how to tell. Kurt has let Alex fuck him before; for money, or drugs, or any combination of the two. He's always been a bit clingy, and likes to pin Kurt's arms down too hard when he fucks him, but money is money. Kurt hands him the bill in silence, without any eye contact, and waits for the plastic baggy he knows to be lurking in one of Alex's many coat pockets.

"Yo, Kurt," Alex grins, leering slightly lecherously. "What can I do you for?"

"As much crystal as I can get," says Kurt, keeping his voice even. He's never asked for meth before, and Alex knows it. The other man raises his eyebrows.

"Really, now? If you want, yeah. I can give you a sweet deal. But you gotta be careful with this shit, pretty thing. Too much of it and you'll go into one of those commas." He snorts and shakes his head. Like it's _funny_.

"Comas," Kurt corrects him, rolling his eyes. "And I want as much as possible. I'm having a party."

Kurt isn't having a party. Alex makes a few other suggestions - maybe he can tempt Kurt with coke again, or E tablets like the time before? But Kurt remains firm. Quiet and set and not budging an inch. After a few minutes, Alex raises his hands in the air and fishes a baggy out of one of his deeper pockets. Kurt buys as much as he can, which is a surprising amount considering what he had expected to pay.

Money exchanges hands, and Alex trails a hand down Kurt's cheek. Whispers _I'll have you make up the difference to me later_ before patting Kurt on the cheek and turning to leave. The bathroom door swings for a moment - back and forth, back and forth - before settling shut. And then it's just Kurt again, alone in the filthy restroom.

He stands for a long, long moment after Alex leaves. He wants to do this, but if he does it at home no one will find him. Kurt doesn't want to rot. Doesn't want to be left for weeks in his awful apartment, the stench getting thicker and heavier until his neighbours eventually call the police. Kurt doesn't want to be left that way - alone, for days or possibly weeks. He just wants it to be over. The sparkling dream of New York he's had since childhood has dissolved into nothing but a nightmare, and now it's time to wake up. He grips the bag in his hand and before he loses his nerve, shakes the pills onto his palm.

They're multicoloured, an array of pastel pinks and yellows and light blues. They don't look like something dangerous. They look like candy.

"Courage," he whispers to himself with a fond smile, voice high and shaking as it reverberates off the bathroom walls, he hesitates for a second, breathing deeply and just basking in the knowledge that he doesn't have to do it anymore, doesn't have to have sex with strangers, and then he dry swallows them all. He waits for another minute before he leaves the bathroom, heading towards a corner booth and sliding himself into it. He presses his head back against the cool leather and closes his eyes. He feels... normal. His head is quiet, for once, with no buzz of worries or anxiety or the desperate need to _keep on going_, to _keep on surviving_.

Instead, he feels almost peaceful. Too calm for this to all be real.

Kurt keeps his eyes closed, waits for it to kick in.

Across the room Blaine is frowning. He saw Kurt come in and head for the bathroom, saw who he knows to be one of the local drug dealers follow him a little while later, and then saw the dealer leave. He's seen the guy before; glimpses of him tucked away in alleys, palming bills and handing out baggies to regulars. Blaine knows the guy is dangerous.

And Kurt still hasn't come out.

He's about ready to go in after him when Kurt finally emerges. He's breathing rapidly,

with a visible tremor in his hands; Blaine can see the dazed expression on his face from across the room.

"You wouldn't," he murmured, as if Kurt can hear him. Keeping one eye on Kurt, he looks for the dealer. He finds him after a minute, about to leave, and Blaine moves faster then he thought possible, grasping at Alex's arm and pulling him closer.

"You know Kurt?" Blaine asks, trying to keep calm. Alex looks confused but after shaking Blaine's hand off, nods.

"Did you just sell something to him?"

Alex brightens, "Sure, man. You want a little something? Pretty boy just about cleaned me out, though. Said he was throwing a party or something, which is strange. Cuz hey, I wasn't invited."

Blaine shakes his head, "What was it? E? LSD?"

"Nah, ice, man. But, dude. Don't spread it around: if you know Kurt you must be cool, but I don't need the cops sniffing around, you know?" The dealer laughs and turns to look at the corner booth where Kurt's half laid out. He frowns. "He doesn't look too good, man, maybe you better go take him home."

Blaine looks over his shoulder just in time to see Kurt, eyes rolled back in his head as his tiny body begins convulsing against the leather seats.


	5. Chapter 5

**Edited chapter 5**

**Chapter Five: **

Blaine doesn't think he's ever moved so fast in his entire life. Not in high school, running from jerks and jocks, or in Dalton, pulling Kurt down that corridor on the first day they'd met. He's halfway across the room before he even notices his legs are moving. In an instant he's crouched by Kurt's side, desperately trying to keep his arms and legs from flailing too violently.

"Kurt," he barks out, watching helplessly as Kurt's gestures become even stronger and he has to flinch backwards to escape a potential fist to the face. Distantly, Blaine realizes that the music has stopped: somewhere between Blaine running away from the dealer and towards the convulsing boy, others in the club have started to notice what's going on. No one is moving to help. They're all just standing there, watching. Blaine is sickened to realize that a good half of them have _fascination_ written across their features.

Below him, Kurt jerks to the side - and begins vomiting weakly onto the club floor, chest heaving even harder as his body attempts to purge it of the drug. Blaine turns him onto his side as quickly as he can so he won't suffocate, and the noxious substance chokes and dribbles out of Kurt's mouth. Kurt's once-beautiful face is sheet-pale and wracked a he weakly chokes out onto the floor.

Blaine shouts frantically over his shoulder, yelling something about an ambulance and an overdose. He can barely register the words, or what they mean, and he he doesn't really care. He just wants Kurt to be Kurt again. He just wants Kurt to be safe.

"It's the drugs," he says, not even sure why he's speaking out loud. Or if Kurt can even hear him. "It's the drugs that are making you feel this way, just - Kurt, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be safe, just - it's fine. It's okay."

Kurt's heavy breathing slows, but only slightly. All Blaine can do is keep people away, and crouch over his prone body, and whisper words that don't mean anything into ears that might not even be able to hear them.

It feels like hours and hours have passed when Blaine finally -_ finally _- hears sirens. Blaine stars down at Kurt in his arms, who seems to have quietened down slightly. There's a trickle of vomit running down the side of his mouth, and the odd tremor is still running down his spine, setting off a chain reaction in his other limbs. And Blaine is completely helpless; he has no idea if the convulsions lessening is a good thing or a bad thing, or what he should be doing to help. He's never watched anyone overdose on anything, ever, and all he can do is hold tight and _hope_.

Every little jolt that goes through Kurt's body, Blaine knows. Because Blaine feels them too. They make panic burst in his chest, make him feel like he can't get enough air into his lungs. Blaine tries to smooth Kurt's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, but his hands are shaking too hard. Kurt's skin is hot. Too hot, so _hot._

Paramedics burst through the door, heading in their direction as soon as they see the crowd gathered around the two of them.

"Sir?" a tall, brown-haired paramedic says to him, putting a firm hand on Blaine's shoulder. Pulling him out of the way so the others can get to the frail-looking young man he'd been cradling, "Sir, do you know this man?"

Blaine nods distantly, still staring at his ex-boyfriend. Lying on the ground and still choking weakly, struggling to get enough breath into his lungs.

"Kurt," he chokes, tearing his eyes away to look the paramedic in the eyes. "He - oh, god. He took an overdose of - of meth, I think? That's what the man said. I can't - is he -?"

"Do you know how much he took?" The paramedic keeps speaking in calm but firm tone of voice, not allowing Blaine any time to ask questions.

"I don't -" Blaine starts, shaking his head and unable to take his eyes off Kurt. Lying on the floor with paramedics checking his vital signs. "I have no idea, I wasn't -"

"Did he take anything else with them? Other drugs, alcohol -"

"I don't know. I don't think so, and I don't know exactly when he took it - at least fifteen minutes ago, and. I - oh, Jesus, is he going to be okay?"

"Let's just focus on this for a second, alright? Do you know his family? Next of kin? Anyone you can call for him?" The man prods again, trying to regain Blaine's focus.

"Yeah. I have his brothers number…Finn," Blaine blinks, eyes suddenly swimming with tears, "Is…Is he going t-to be ok?"

The paramedic is silent for a moment, "We'll do our best, Son, from the looks of it, if we can get him to-"

"He's not breathing!"

Blaine freezes. The room is warm, his heart is thumping wildly in his chest and there's sweat dripping down his back but Blaine feels as though someone has just thrown a tonne of ice down his pants. The man standing next to him swears and moves forward as Blaine stumbles slightly, breathing hard.

"Y'all right there sonny?" a soft voice hovers around him and steady hands push him down onto a bar stool. Blaine blinks, staring up into kind eyes, "Kurt?" He slurs slightly, trying to stagger back to his feet. The man frowns.

"Easy now. Kurt eh? That the wee bit they're carting off in the ambulance? Poor lad, hardly stood a chance," The man shakes his head, the ragged ends of his hair clinging to the scruff on his cheeks and chin.

For Blaine, the world ends. Stars explode inside his head.

"Kurt!" Blaine's eyes are wide, half unseeing, "He's dead…oh god…oh god," his hands come up to his head and he grips his hair. "This is all my fault," if only he'd done something, tied Kurt to a chair, strapped him to a bed. But it was too late. Blaine had ruined everything and now he'd have to survive through the funeral.

And Burt. What was he going to say to Burt? How could he break the mans heart again after Kurt's mother.

"I'm going to throw up," he whispers hoarsely and the man backs up swiftly.

"Shouldn't you be off t'ospital with them? It looks like they're about to set off. Wouldn't want the little man to wake alone eh?" He points out, trying to edge away from the volcano that is bubbling in Blaine's stomach.

"That's not funny," Blaine snarls, glancing at the ambulance in question which he can just see through the club's open doors , wishing he had something heavy to throw, "My friend is dead and all you can do is jo-"

"Whoa, whoa, no, who ever said anything about being dead?" the man looks puzzled, "All I meant was that the youth these days, the don't stand a chance against all the druggies and what not, look!" the man points, "Your little friend is alive as far as I can tell, use your eyes boy!"

Blaine is speechless again. Kurt is alive. _Kurt is alive. _He glances at the paramedics and sees one of them heading over to him.

"We're about to head off, mate, are you riding in the ambulance with him or meeting us there? There are some forms we need you to fill in, and to contact his family," The paramedic smiles encouragingly, motioning to the doors.

"I'll ride with you," Blaine nods, taking a deep breath and forcing his body to move, following the man as he leads Blaine out to the ambulance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Edited.**

**Chapter Six:**

When they arrive at the hospital Kurt is moved immediately out of the ambulance. Blaine tries to follow but one of the paramedics tells him to stay where he is until Kurt is inside and the right forms can be given to him. He bites his lip and watches as Kurt is pushed further and further out of his sight. He's restless, waiting for the man who'd spoken to him to come back and so when he finally does Blaine all but volts out of the ambulance.

"Right," the paramedic raises an eyebrow, "I'm Liam, by the way. So you mentioned before you can contact the family? We'll be needing you to do that, normally the hospital would but since you know them we feel it might be better coming from you, and these are the forms we'll be needing you to try and fill out," He passes some paper to Blaine, who mostly ignores it in favour of asking after Kurt.

"Look, I don't know anything about that, I was getting these," He gestures to the papers with a slight smile, "But the receptionist is a bit of a push over if you talk to her, she might know something," Blaine looks at him, silent for a second, then he nods, says thank you an rushes into the Hospital.

The hospital is bright, white and sterile when he stumbles into it, he grapples with words, trying to ask about Kurt. The nurse disappears for a moment before kneeling by his side again with a slight smile.

"He's having his stomach pumped at the moment," she murmurs, "You aren't family so I'm afraid I can't tell you anymore but…" she hesitates, glancing around, "They think he'll be fine," She pats his arm gently, before ushering him into the waiting room, "Do you know the family? His mum maybe? His dad?"

Blaine nods numbly, his brain still trying to reassure himself that Kurt is going to be alright, he's going to be fine. "His dad, I can…Finn and I can call," He barely realises he isn't making much sense but the nurse seems to understand this, leaving him with a nod and the form to fill out.

Ignoring the sheet of paper and pen he shuffles to his feet and slides his phone from his pocket. His fingers shake as they bring up the phone book and dial Finn's number. It's late, or really early and Blaine is still half out of it with worry and adrenaline.

When Finn answers its with a growl and a complaint which cuts out when Blaine tells him to shut up. The stunned silence echoes down the phone as Finn waits impatiently for Blaine to talk.

"Kurt's in hospital," he words fly from his mouth before he can find a better way to put it and he listens as Finn scrambles, he assumes, out of bed.

"Wha-? Why? He's _where_?" Finn's voice is still husky from sleep but other then that he sounds wide awake. "Is he alright? What happened? Blaine?" Blaine blinks at a wall for a moment before shaking himself awake.

"I think…I mean, he's going to be fine but I'm not family so they couldn't really speak to me," Blaine clears his throat, "I don't have Burt's new number, do you think you could… you know, call him?" He feels awkward suddenly. Like he has no right to be talking to Finn or Burt.

Yeah, yeah of course, which hospital? And…it might take a while to get there, we'll need to get a plane. Or drive. Or something," Finn takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself, "What happened? Car accident? Stage accident?"

Blaine's heart aches and he wishes he could burrow into music like he would have done all those years ago, like he did do when him and Kurt had first broken up.

"I don't- I mean, maybe you should get here, and…and then I'll tell you?" it ends like a question and Blaine winces, biting at the inside of his mouth until he can taste the harsh tang of copper. He soothes the flesh with his tongue, only half listening to Finn's explosion of indignant splutters.

"He's my brother," Finn counters, "Besides, Burt won't ever stop calling you until you tell him anyway, it might as well come from me right?"

Blaine is silent for a moment.

And then, "Over dose,"

He can almost feel Finn pale over the phone, feel the same burst of confused fear, anger, hurt. He expects Finn to shout. To cry, to do _something_ but he stays silent for a long moment.

"Which hospital?" Finn's words tremble slightly, as if he's fighting to keep control of them.

Blaine frowns slightly, but tells him anyway, and the next five minutes consist of making plans, saying goodbyes, and a promise from Blaine to keep Kurt company, and safe.

Blaine doesn't have the heart to tell him they won't let him see Kurt, instead agreeing and saying goodbye quickly. He hangs up and stares at the wall for a solid moment. His head aches, his feet ache and his heart is throbbing in his chest.

He should have been able to stop this. If he'd never broke up with Kurt, if he'd kept an eye on him, checked up on him maybe. Shaking his head, Blaine stands and moves around the room, pressing his fingers to his temple as he tries to forget the past two hours of his life.

It's almost twelve hours later when Finn shakes him awake in the waiting room, face flushed with tiredness. "Blaine, dude, I thought you were with Kurt," His tone is kind of perplexed, like he's just come across a puzzle he has no idea how to solve. This is Finn though, Blaine thinks, Finn just doesn't do puzzles.

"Wouldn't let me, not family." Blaine mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes and squinting into the bright light in the waiting room. He pushes himself into a sitting position and silently looks around him, noting the fact that Kurt's whole family have turned up, including what seems to be half of the old New Directions crew. He can only guess that Finn and Rachel tried contacting them all in some old habit of clinging together in a crisis.

Finn, Carol and Burt are all seated around him in a bit of a semi circle, watching him carefully, waiting, Blaine realises, for the whole story. He sighs and rubs his face again, wishing he was somewhere far, far away. Preferably on a beach, joking with Kurt about the fashion sense of people who wear weird swim suits. Trying to buy himself time he glances around again, trying to remember faces and names and then match them all up.

Rachel is in the in between Finn and the others, wearing jeans and a plain purple shirt, the outfit is obviously one which she's just thrown on, She's tapping her fingers against her knee with one hand while the other is clasped in Finn's. Blaine remembers hearing her on the phone when he was talking to him.

Mercedes and Tina are there too, a few seats away from Rachel who's alternating between watching the doors and watching Finn, the two girls are leaning against each other and snoozing lightly. Blaine allows himself a slight smile, almost awestruck that even after a few years Kurt's friends are still here for him. It's the last familiar face, though, which surprises him. Santana. She's sat on her own near the door, as if to make a quick escape when she needs to. She looks uncomfortable, shifting every few moments and making sure not to meet anyone's eyes. She's wearing tight black jeans and a floaty white top decorated with stars around the hem.

Finally he looks back at the Hudmel's sat in front of him. "I…" He doesn't know what to say. How do you tell someone that their son is a prostitute with a drug abusing habit. For the millionth time in the past minute, Blaine wishes he didn't have to deal with this.

"Has he woke up?" Blaine asks hopefully, trying to distract from actually talking about why they're all here in the first place.

Burt nods slightly, face creased with stress, but any relief he feels is erased when Burt and Carol exchange worried glances.

"He…he won't speak to us, he won't even look at us. Blaine, please, what do you know?" Carol bites her lip, the tears sparkling in her eyes makes Blaine's heart shudder slightly, curling in on itself as if it knows that what he's going to say is going to break a lot of hearts..

"When I saw Kurt…" He takes a deep breath steeling himself, "Look, Mr Hummel, I don't want to invade Kurt's privacy, I'd rather he tell you-"

"Listen," Burt growls, standing up and gesturing angrily, "Right now my son is in a hospital bed, refusing to talk, after taking an apparent over dose. I haven't spoken to him in almost four months and all you can say is you want to respect his privacy?" Blaine flinches at the older man's tone, looking at the floor, "Frankly I don't give a crap. You'll tell me why my son is here and you'll tell me _now!"_

Blaine knows now that every single person in the room is focused on him, the silence is louder then anything he's ever heard before but he knows his words will be heard by everyone there. Do it, he thinks, do it and then you won't be alone in this. There more people around who know, the better it is right? We can all help Kurt then and everything will be ok again. Blaine takes a deep breath, steeling himself for everyone's reactions, then speaks quietly.

"He's a prostitute,"


	7. Chapter 7

**Edited.**

**Chapter Seven:**

Blaine swears he's never seen someone go from angry to deathly pale in so little time before. Burt staggers and Blaine is the only one with the mind enough to dart forward and help lower him into the chair, wishing the older man hadn't stood up especially to shout at him.

"Sir?" He squeaks, eyes roving the room to look for a nurse or something in case Mr Hummel faints, he knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of news like this, and he saw it for himself, but Burt is Kurt's dad, his family and Blaine hates himself for having to do this to the man. His eyes light on Santana who's staring at him with an almost violent expression of disbelief on her face. Then to Tina and Mercedes who are fully awake now and clutching at each other with iron grips. They're frozen, both of them, like the beautiful ice sculptures his parents used to buy for the big parties they held. Rachel catches his eye when he looks to her, she's half curled in on herself, like she can stop the words from reaching her heart and hurting her, her beautiful eyes are wide and brimming with tears. He looks away quickly, only to be faced with Kurt's step-mother.

"Blaine. You…" Carol is staring at him with wide eyes, she's almost as pale as Burt, who is sitting ram rod straight and staring into space. Her hands are clenched together, trembling in her lap like she wants to reach out and grab him.

"Look guys…" Blaine shakes his head, "I don't know how or..or really why, I just know what I've seen and what Kurt's said - which is honestly not that much," he shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Burt to make sure he's ok before moving back into his own seat and running a hand through ungelled hair.

"Kurt wouldn't!" Finn protests suddenly, glaring at Blaine, "Why would you say that?" Finn, Blaine sees, is still naïve and sweet in many ways, and Blaine wishes he could see life the same way but watching who Kurt became after they split up, after the lost contact, its drained every ounce of innocence he thought he had left.

"Shh Honey," Carol wraps a shaking arm around her son and pulls him into a side-hug, "Can you explain please? Blaine? I know…this must be so hard for you," she gives him a watery smile, "But we're all a bit confused, and," after glancing at Burt she continues, "I think we need the facts right now,"

Blaine sighs, closing his eyes for a second. He wishes he could be anywhere but there, seeing the confusion and the dread in Kurt's family's eyes. He wants to laugh, to tell them he was joking and that Kurt just fell over and banged his head, broke his leg, _poked himself in the eye_. Because anything would be better then this, then having to watch such a loving father prepare himself to hear how his son has started working the streets. He glances at the girls in the room, noting how each one of them is now sporting a fierce expression on their faces, rather then a confused one -like Finn, or a worried one like Carol. He daren't even look at Burt Hummel.

"I saw him the other day," Blaine pauses but his brain is so foggy he can't even remember the exact day, the time, the place, "I think, I don't know, it was outside a nightclub maybe? And he was with a guy, but it didn't…" Blaine shifts uneasily, "It didn't look, ah…consensual," he pauses to let it sink in, wincing when Burt makes a noise like a wounded animal. "I stopped it," he hurries to reassure him, "And then we…" He blushes, deciding to leave the kiss out, "Kurt ran off, and I didn't see him for a week, I think,"

"Is there a Mr Anderson here?"

Blaine jumps, then looks up into the weathered face of a doctor dressed in blue scrubs, a dark, wooden clip board in hand, not the one who he'd spoken to when he first arrived and wonders how he'd managed to sneak up on the group, "That's me," He half stands, biting his lip, "Is there something I can help you with?"

The doctor smiles slightly, "Mr Hummel is asking for you," he glances at the other people in the room, "It isn't really normal procedure to allow friends-or boyfriends-" He looks at Blaine and raises an eyebrow while Blaine turns tomato red, "-Before family have really had the chance. But given the circumstances and Kurt's lack of co-operation, I think we can make an exception, please, if you'll come this way-"

"Hey!" Finn snaps, "I'm his brother, why doesn't he want to speak to me? Or to Dad? And -Blaine can't go! He was telling us…what had happened," Blaine daren't even look at Burt, afraid to face the anger he's sure will be there, so he's shocked to hear when Burt speaks up on his behalf.

"Finn, it's alright, if Kurt wants Blaine…well Blaine better hurry up and get to him," Blaine blinks because he's sure he just head Burt's voice telling him it was ok. He glances at the man who's now looking at him with raised grey eyebrows, "Go on, son, we can sort this all out in a while, maybe you can convince Kurt to tell us himself. Can you," Burt rubs his cheek, frowning at the layer of stubble already growing and sighs, "Can you tell him we love him, please?"

Blaine nods and forces a weak smile, "Yeah sure, I'll see you guys in-" he shrugs awkwardly, "I'll speak to you soon," He sends a look in the girls general, unsure of whether he should address them directly, but when they see him looking at they do is wave him off towards the doors.

It's a shock to walk in and see Kurt so small and pale against the stark white sheets, and it certainly doesn't help that it looks as if Kurt hasn't eaten a proper meal in months. His eyelashes fall against porcelain cheeks, and Blaine just wants to gather the thin boy into his arms. He glances at the doctor behind him who nods to the seat by Kurt's bedside then turns and leaves. Blaine moves forward, taking the opportunity to look around quickly. The walls are a soft peach colour, with one single picture close to the door, showing the sea and a beach painted in simple paintbrush strokes of blues and golds. He forces his attention away from the picture and towards Kurt as he reaches the chair.

"Kurt?" Blaine murmurs, his voice barely audible, settling into the seat hesitantly, wondering what exactly he's supposed to be doing there, what Kurt wants to say to him that he can't say to his father.

"If you tell my Dad, Blaine… I swear I will never forgive you," the words are quiet but the force behind them is deadly and Blaine almost flinches back into the soft material of the seat. "You haven't right?" He's desperate now, "He doesn't know? Right Blaine? Right?" Blaine glances at the other male and finds himself locked in a staring contest with watery blue eyes. True Blue, Blaine remembers he used to think of them, when they first met, because Kurt's emotions spill from his eyes even when he's trying to keep his face as emotionless as possible. Blaine's relieved for some reason, that that hasn't changed, Kurt is still Kurt even if he's trapped under a few toughened layers.

"Blaine!" Kurt stresses again, struggling into a sitting position before Blaine can tell him to stop moving, "You're quiet, you told him didn't you,"

Blaine sighs and shakes his head, "He deserves to know, Kurt, he's your Dad and he cares about you, he loves you," Kurt is glaring at him, and Blaine's glad looks can't kill.

"You had no _right_," Kurt seethed, eyes narrowed, "You aren't my boyfriend anymore Blaine, you aren't my friend even," Blaine flinches and looks at his hands, wishing that last sentence didn't sting so damn much. He hears Kurt groan quietly, in resignation and Blaine glances at him, unable to help himself, "What did he say?"

"Not much," He forces a smile, "He didn't really have chance…you called me out of there just a smidge too late," Blaine feels a little bit smug at this. Kurt's dad needed to know and Blaine knew for a fact that Kurt would never have told him, not for all the Gucci in the world hand wrapped and delivered into his lap. Blaine knows he should be feeling completely miserable and taking distressed to a whole new level but interfering is kind of his thing. He was the one who told Burt Hummel to give his son the sex talk after all. Besides, just like then, what he's done is good, no matter what Kurt says because while Kurt might not still think of Blaine as a friend, Blaine will never stop thinking of Kurt as his _best_ friend. Even after five years.

"Right. Damage control then," Kurt pauses, thinking and Blaine jumps at the chance to point out that his father already knows the outline, Kurt might as well let him in on some of the details so his Dad can stop freaking out. Kurt gives him a look which clearly conveys that he doesn't believe his father will stop worrying just because he knows everything. If anything, Blaine thinks, he'll worry more.

"Look, I don't know exactly what went on back…back _then _that could have resulted in what happened to you, but you need to talk about it," Blaine shrugs, seeing Kurt's scathing look, "Not even necessarily to me, to your dad. Talk to someone else, a professional."

"I'm _sorry_," Kurt scoffed "But it sounds like you just told me to see a therapist, I am _not crazy. _I'm okay, I'm fine!"

"_Kurt!" _Blaine stands, knowing he must look slightly hysterical, "Kurt, you've been taking drugs and sleeping with guys…or girls, or whoever, for money, you tried to kill yourself." Kurt looks away, annoyed, "What part of that is ok to you?" He moves around the bed so he can look the other male in the eyes, "None of this is okay, and its alright for you to be upset, or…I don't know, traumatised?"

Kurt shoots him yet another glare, "I'm used to this Blaine, it's normal to me, maybe not so much the over dose but-"

"No Kurt!" Blaine grips his hair with both hands, tugging at it painfully and glad that for once, there's no gel in it, "_Nothing_ about this is normal, it's not ok, it's not right and it isn't something you should be used to, don't you see?" Blaine leans forward and grasps Kurt's face, forcing their eyes to meet again, "Don't you see? This is horrible, it's _horrible_ and it's _heart breaking_ and I hate myself for not knowing, for not getting you out of this."

"It isn't your fault, Blaine," Kurt murmurs, clenching the white sheets between his fingers, then smoothing them down across his legs, "I… it hasn't been that long really, only a few years, nothing like some people I've seen," he takes a deep breath, "Okay, alright, get my Dad, I can't tell this story twice, I don't think I could face it, but you both need to know,"

Blaine nods, reaching over and hesitating over Kurt's hand. In the end he pats it quietly and then stands, ready to leave the room. He hesitates though, and looks back at Kurt, "Your step-mom, Finn, Rachel, Santana, Tina and Mercedes are all here too, should I bring them too?" Kurt just looks at him with exasperated eyes.

"You're kidding right? They're not _actually_ here right?"

"Well...yeah they kinda are," Blaine gives a little half shrug and dances from foot to foot, eager to drag Burt and whoever else in so they can sort this mess out.

"Right. Right, that's just...yeah, that's-great," Kurt rubs his pale forehead and stares at Blaine for a moment, "Oh whatever, it's not like any of them would let me get away with keeping _gossip_ from them anyway,"

Blaine nods and moves to leave yet again, before pausing _yet again, _"You know they're not here for gossip right? They're your friends and they love you. They're here for _you_,"

Kurt just laughs bitterly and suddenly Blaine needs to get out of there, even if just for a second. He turns, leaving Kurt to chuckle darkly in his peach soft room.


	8. Chapter 8

**GUYS. Do I have your attention? I should. This is really important, like i've put in the first chapter, I spent the last week working on this in depth, i've updated this entire story chapter by chapter with an edited version, and some events are really important. Because of a few changes I need you guys to tell me if you think this deserves to go up to an M rating. So yes, i strongly suggest you read this from the start to get the new bits in, but it isn't essential if you really can't be bothered.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

(Please read the A/N before starting) Blaine stops outside of Kurt's room, leaning his back against the wall and glaring up at the light like it has personally offended him. C'mon Anderson, get your ass in gear, he mentally chastises himself but it is another five minutes before his legs let him move and even then it's at a snail's pace.

He pushes through the double doors separating the corridor from the waiting room and straight away he can feel everyone's eyes on him, like they can decipher any information Kurt might have given him just by looking at him. He glances around, noting that everyone has sort of moved closer to the Hummel-Hudson's, converging around them for comfort.

"_Well_?" Rachel demands, surprising him slightly since he'd assumed Burt would be the first one to speak, Mercedes sends her a pointed look but Blaine can see the clear need to know as plain on Mercedes' face as it is on Tina's, and Santana's, and every other single person he knows in the room.

"Kurt's agreed to see - and speak - to us all at the same time," He glances at Burt,

"If possible. I think he wants to get the story out and then never have to speak a word of it again." He shrugs.

Burt stands, pressing his fingers to his eyes for a long moment, chasing away tiredness, before he glances at Blaine, "You sure he wants us all in there at once?" Blaine nods and he continues, "Then I guess that's what he'll have," he looks pointedly at everyone else and they all scamper to their feet, grabbing bags and looking to Blaine to lead them to Kurt.

Blaine gives them all encouraging looks, then turns and once again pushes through the doors to the corridor, and then into Kurt's room. He's staring out of the window, still sitting up in bed. His entire body is tense and alert, like he's about to bolt. He glances at them as they all spread through the room, Burt taking the seat Blaine had originally had, Carol standing by his side. The others sort of lurk in the corners until Kurt rolls his eyes and presses a red button by his bed.

A moment later a red headed nurse comes dancing in, the smile on her face so bright Blaine wonders if the sun gets jealous. She pauses, blinking for a moment as she takes in the multitude of people who have invaded Kurt's room.

"Ah," She notes, making a face, "Kurt honey, you _know_ you aren't supposed to have this many people in here at once, you need your rest," Her tone is sweet but run through with authority.

"Becca, please? I just need to...to get it off my back, I'll tell them what happened and then they can all leave and go back to their own lives again!" Kurt looks at her pleadingly, seemingly ignoring-or maybe not even noticing- the way the people in the room flinch slightly at the assumption they'd abandon him after they heard what they wanted to hear. "Just a few more chairs?" Kurt adds with a cheeky grin.

Blaine can't stop staring at Kurt. While the other man is taking to the nurse-Becca-he's Kurt again, like he used to be, teasing and joking and...happy. Blaine is jealous Kurt doesn't smile at him like that anymore.

"Fine," Becca huffs with exasperation, "Fine, but the room can only fit another-" She pauses, glancing around, "Three chairs in it, so some of you will have to stand," and without another words she turns and walks out, leaving one of the most awkward silences Blaine has ever encountered.

"I can stand," Finn says, nodding at the others, Tina volunteers to stand too, as does Santana, so Mercedes, Carol and Rachel get the seats that are brought in by Becca. She glances at them all one last time before leaving, smiling a Kurt and warning everyone else not to upset him with her eyes.

"Okay, first things first," Kurt raises an eyebrow, "Don't interrupt. I'm not even kidding, I'm telling this...story and I'm not pausing, if you try to speak over me I'll just ignore you anyway so there isn't any point," he looks at them all, waiting with pensive eyes to make sure they're listening. Blaine nods, along with several others. Burt just sighs and Santana actually rolls her eyes.

"So, I graduated." Kurt starts, eyes far away, staring into a distance no one else can witness, "You all did too, of course, but that's irrelevant," He locks eyes with Blaine, "Apart from you, as you know, Blaine and I broke up a week after graduating. Blaine wanted to take a gap year to ' explore' and I wanted to jump straight into Broadway," He smirks cynically, "Live the dream," his tone is half wistful, Blaine thinks, and half loathing.

No one speaks but Blaine notices the uneasy looks Kurt's old friends are exchanging, and the way Carol grips Burt's hard just that little bit tighter. Kurt isn't looking at anyone now, not even Blaine. He's staring at the covers of his bed, and when he continues his voice has turned soft, almost loving.

"We were... I still loved him-you-Blaine. I still loved Blaine, but I couldn't risk taking a year out and so when we talked about it we decided we'd just...go our separate ways," Kurt shrugs, absent-mindedly tugging a few threads free from the duvet. "I moved to NYC when I was 19 and worked my ass of as a waiter in the evenings and on the weekends, I should have been doing more hours since the rent was so expensive but I needed the daytime hours to audition for roles, and I did get a few but they were small, one or two liners or just in the background, I was told over and over again that my voice was too unique for Broadway. There was nothing they could do with it," Kurt snorted, "Kind of like New Directions sometimes,"

Blaine winces, biting his lip to stop himself from saying something, wishing he could hold Kurt's hand and just promise him that everything would be alright again. Burt, he saw, obviously felt the same way as he slowly reached out, aiming for Kurt's balled up fist. Blaine's heart gives a harsh ache when he sees Kurt subtly move his arm away, awkwardly scratching at his side so there's no way for Burt to reach it. He watches Burt's face as it crumbles slightly, as Burt steels himself and slowly drags his hand back to his own lap, clasping his fingers together as if it's some sort of replacement for Kurt's hand.

"So then I turned twenty," Kurt begins again, "I was still doing crap with auditions for shows and so I gave more time to working at the diner, hoping to earn more money, but half way through the year there were some financial problems and so the Boss had to let myself and five other staff members go, they couldn't afford us," He shrugs slightly and forces a smile on his face as he finally looks up to study the group infont of him, Blaine knows what he must be seeing. His family-Burt, Finn and Carol, even Rachel, he imagines, to some extent, then his old friends, Tina, Santana and Mercedes. All of them-us, Blaine corrects himself, we're looking at him with such pity and distress-Blaine doesn't know how Kurt can stay strong after everything.

"After about a month without a job I had to pack and move out, I just couldn't afford the rent," Kurt makes a face, "I moved in with this guy-Emmett, It was cheap rent and he knew I couldn't start paying yet because of my lack of job, he was pretty cool, he let it slide as long as I took care of the shopping and housework. I didn't realise until later that he was a prostitute," Kurt blushes slightly, biting at his lip, "I was almost twenty-one at this point in time, and after a few more months of being jobless Emmett told me if I didn't start paying the rent he'd have no choice but to kick me out," Kurt sighs and looks at the ceiling, "I can't blame him, you know? I was living their for free virtually while he had to work out of the streets to pay for the place, it just wasn't that easy to get a job, everywhere was full, so..." Blaine can see Kurt almost physically steeling himself, "So he offered to show me the ropes-of what he did, I mean,"

"So what-" Burt starts angrily, half rising out of his seat, "Where the hell is this guy?"

Kurt sends him a piercingly angry look, "Sit, Dad, and let me_ finish_," Burt growls but does as he's told, scowling at his son.

"It wasn't until I actually turned twenty-one that I...err-took up the trade," Kurt frowns awkwardly, not sure if he's got the words right. "And for the past two years I've been doing-that, until Blaine came along and kind of turned everything upside down, I couldn't stand the thought of people-my friends, family- knowing what I'd done and so I took drugs to forget," He finishes with a sigh of relief at the fact it's over. Blaine feels a little over whelmed to find that he's the turning point in all this. And a little confused. Blaine is pretty sure Kurt was trying to kill himself, so why lie about it?"

"So you were just trying to...to forget?" Burt asks, "It wasn't suicide?" His tone is half hopeful and Blaine looks at Kurt too, trying to decipher his expression.

"No no," He smiles slightly, though it looks forced, "No way would I do that," and Blaine kind of wants to hit him because they both know it's not true, and the way Kurt glances at him, a pleading look in his eyes, shows Blaine he's right.

"And this Emmett guy?" Finn asks, folding his arms across his chest and giving Kurt a stern look.

"Yeah..." Kurt murmurs, "He committed suicide about a year ago," Kurt hugs himself, "I found his body the next morning, he'd hung himself," he draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, as if he's trying to rid himself of the memory.

"Oh," Finn winces, looking down at the floor.

"Guys," Kurt looks at them all, "Can I just...can I _sleep_ now, please?" He looks at his dad pleadingly, relief exploding over his face when Burt nods, and stands, giving the others a pointed look. Blaine hesitates, looking at Kurt and tilting his head, trying to mentally send him a message, "I'll talk to you later," Kurt tells him softly, giving him a meaningful look. Blaine sighs, but he shrugs it off and turns to follow the group out of Kurt's room.


End file.
